Parade of Truth
by Ephemeral Lunatic
Summary: Castle is in prison, wrongly accused for Johanna Beckett's murder. Based on a Castle Fanfic Prompt posted by Lord of Kavaka.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

This. _This_ wasn't supposed to happen.

* * *

Every month. Every single month for the past five years she's been visiting him.

"Why?" she'd ask. Nothing more, nothing less. Not at first.

 _Why did you do it?_

 _Why did you take my mother away?_

 _Why did you change my life irrevocably?_

It was a countless number of questions, all summed up in a single word.

His answer was always the same. Every single visit. Sixty of them now. She'd been keeping track since his conviction. Since she sat in that courtroom and watched the jury hand down a guilty verdict. As his mother cried and his ex-wife held their oblivious young daughter in her arms; the little girl had no idea that she was about to lose her father, just as Kate had lost her mother.

Only he would still be alive. Alive and well, sitting in that prison cell.

And on some days, some sixty days now, he'd be sitting in front of her, shackled to a table, his eyes downcast, a hunch to his shoulders. The posture of a guilty man who couldn't stand to face his victim's daughter.

It was a stark contrast to Kate's demeanor. She always sat with perfect posture, eyes straight ahead, hands clasped in front of her.

"Why?"

She didn't need to give him anymore words than that.

* * *

It wasn't always the same day that she'd visit each month, and not always with the same frequency. Some trips came a week or two between, and then a longer break of time between the next. Her mother was gone, but Kate Beckett's life went on as best as it could. She pushed through. Finishing school and becoming a detective wasn't easy, not after everything that he'd -

But she'd managed somehow. He'd taken away her mother, but between the long hours of school and of academy training, all the hard work; the night's spent peeling her drunken father off of the living room floor or out of the small, dank booth at his favorite dive bar...she always made time to make the visits each month, without fail.

And, without fail, his answer was unchanging as well. Each and every time. The words would vary, but the message was all the same.

"I didn't do it, Kate. I didn't kill your mother, I swear it."

Sometimes, she'd almost believe him.

* * *

It was the look in his eyes on some days. The way he'd take her in each visit. It was different in the early years, of course. He was a young father. She was now a motherless young adult. She wasn't even out of her teens yet when it all began. His words were always softer towards her, apologetic. Treating her like a wounded child.

She hated it.

The evidence had been gathered so quickly, and the court proceedings had moved with such haste. One moment, her mother was dead. The next, she was looking her favorite author in the eye, nothing but a metal cage between them.

"Why?"

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he'd said then. "But I'm innocent. I didn't kill your mother. This is all one big misunder - "

She hadn't let him finish then. She couldn't handle it, hearing him speak. The sad eyes, the desperation in them. The way he'd pleaded with her to believe him.

The evidence said otherwise. The evidence and the detectives that had caught him, red-handed, dead to rights. And soon after then, the jury and the New York state justice system said more of the same.

Guilty on all counts. And all for a damn book.

He'd killed her, and his manuscript revealed it all.


	2. Chapter 2

In the early years, he'd still had a glimmer of light left in his eyes. Still met her icy stare for longer than just a few seconds during each meeting. It didn't last that way for long.

It was just some feeble hope of his that his fame or his money would get him off scot-free, she surmised. His speeches were more impassioned then, too. For the first few years, it was the desperate cries of a desperate man.

"Kate. Kate, please. I have a daughter. Her name is Alexis. I could - I could try to bring pictures next time. She's six years old now. She's only six, Kate, and she needs me. I can't be in here. They can't keep me locked up. I didn't do it. I didn't kill your mom. I swear to you. I could never hurt someone like that. I could never hurt you - "

She still remembers, even today, the way her jaw had tightly clenched that day, involuntarily snapping together and cringing with it. His words. It was day eleven. Nearly a year after his conviction. She'd stood up in a hurry, slammed her chair into the table, making him jump in his own seat.

"Kate," he'd called after her, his voice choked with emotion. "Please."

She stood tall, turned around, and much more calmly proceeded to the door.

She didn't let herself fall to pieces until she was two doors down the hall, sliding to the floor, her cheeks stained with tears.

Her favorite author killed her mother.

It was nearly a year later and she just couldn't understand why.

Why wouldn't he tell her why?

* * *

There was a paradigm shift after she became a detective, some years later. Once she had learned the ropes and been trained by a mentor who was, by all accounts, the best in the field. She put everything she had into the job. She couldn't find answers for herself, no matter that it had been five years and the same, gradually weakening reply from the author. His appeals were always rejected. He had trouble finding lawyers willing to take his case. After five years, he'd lost that spark in his eye. The glimmer of hope that had once shined so brightly.

No, she couldn't get answers for herself. Not yet. But she could find answers for other victims. For the families left behind.

"I heard you became a detective," he'd said that day, flopping down gracelessly into the seat he'd become so well accustomed to. "One of the best they've had in years."

She wanted to scoff. To spit in his face. What was with him? This sick sense of pride in his voice. Pride in her.

Pride in her? He killed her mother. How the hell could he feel pride for her? How dare he -

"That's great, Kate. Really great. You look good. I'm so - "

He'd smiled, just briefly, and then he caught himself. Ducked his head.

"I'm glad you're doing well. Really glad. You deserve to be - "

She didn't let him finish the thought.

"Why are you doing this?" she growled out, standing from her chair, hackles raised like a frightened, wild animal.

"I - What?"

"It's been five years. _Five years_. You murdered her. You killed my mother and you still don't have the balls to look me in the eye and tell me why. You sit here every time, rambling on and on about your daughter and your mother...what about mine? She's gone. You took her away from me. And now you're complimenting me? You're _happy_ for me? What kind of a monster are you, Rick Castle?"

She was bristling, seething with anger. After sixty visits, five years, she'd finally let her carefully maintained composure completely snap. In five years, she'd never given him anything beyond an hour of her time each day. A single word in question, an icy stare. He would talk. Oh, how he'd talk to her, but never about the things she'd wanted to hear. Sometimes she'd get up and storm off. Other times, she listened intently. But this was the first time that she'd ever allowed herself to respond back. To unleash her fury.

"Not a monster," he said at length, solemnly, shrinking into his seat. "Just a lonely guy locked away for a crime he didn't commit, trying to make conversation."

Then she did allow herself to scoff.

"You deserve to be lonely. I hope you're miserable in here. I can't wait for the day you finally start rotting away."

Her words were vicious, venom-laced. She could hardly believe them herself. She'd had it pent up for years and now it was like an explosion, her pain and anger the magma to an emotional volcano.

But when he looked up at her next, his eyes shining with tears that now flowed freely down his cheeks, she felt as though a fist and been thrown into her gut. It wasn't the reaction she'd expected from him. Not from her mother's cold-blooded killer.

This shell of a man was nothing like the one she'd seen put behind bars.

"That's fair," he said, lips trembling. He wet the chapped skin with his tongue, a gesture to buy himself time to speak, compose himself.

"To you, I'm just a guilty man. A killer. I'm everything the evidence says I am."

Her jaw tensed. Was this it? Was this the day when he finally unburdened himself, confessed his sins to her?

"But I'm not that guy. I'm not who the cops and the prosecutors say I am. I'm not who you think I am. The evidence isn't the whole story."

"Then what's your story?" she asked, voice pleading. She was so tired of this. So drained. It had been five years and nothing. He'd given her nothing.

Richard Castle wiped his tears with the sleeve of his navy blue prison jumpsuit, and gave her a watery smile.

"I wish I knew, Detective. I've spent the last five years of my life stuck in this place trying to figure it out on my own, but I get the feeling now that you're my only hope in knowing."


	3. Chapter 3

What began as a monthly ritual soon turned into a weekly affair after her outburst that resulted in having the first actual conversation with him in five years.

He'd gotten to her. His tears, his words. His defeat. There were moments over the last few years in which she'd hoped she was wrong. Wished that he wasn't guilty. It was the stories he'd tell her, the letters he'd recite from his daughter, now ten years old and living in Los Angeles after her mother had won sole custody. She was too far away to ever visit but a few times a year. His mother, now living in his loft after divorcing her husband, would bring the young girl around on holidays. He got to speak with her for an hour from a chair seated behind a thick sheet of glass.

Before, it was all one-sided conversations he'd give to her, and she would only listen. Hoping to find something hidden beneath the words. His guilt, a reason for his crime.

But it never came.

He was a master storyteller, she'd tell herself. He became a millionaire by making things up and putting it on a page. He was a best selling author. It would be so easy for him to spread lies that were simple to swallow.

She was a trained detective now. Her clearance rate was already fast approaching the highest of the NYPD. She could solve even the most complex murders; even the cases that made seemingly no sense at all. A rising star in New York's finest.

But she still couldn't get the answers to the most important thing in her life. Why did Richard Castle kill her mother?

Why did none of it make sense?

* * *

"You cut your hair."

He was already shackled to the table on that day, staring up at her wide-eyed. Mesmerized.

"Felt like a change," she offered.

"It's cute on you," he said sincerely. "The red. I like it."

"I'm not here to talk about my hairstyle choices; I'm here to talk about my mother's murder," she bit back, inwardly kicking herself for the blush she knew was tinting her cheeks.

Kate sat down, and then her spine went rigid. She hadn't noticed it when she walked in the room. Now it was glaringly obvious. He had a knot on his forehead, just above his eye, swollen an angry red, and mottled in shades of black and blue around the vicinity. His hair had grown longer recently, he hadn't seemed bothered to have it cut, and it flopped over his forehead, concealing the injury at a distance. Now that she was seated across from him, she could see the wince in his eye, the bruising. The extent of the damage.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, this?" he gave a half grin and involuntary wink, gesturing to the injury with a flick of his eyes since he couldn't really move his shackled hands beyond jerking a thumb in the direction of his head. "Present from a friend of yours."

"A friend of mine," she said flatly, bristling at the implications.

"Jacob Hughes ring a bell?"

It did. She'd had Hughes locked up about a month ago. Crime of passion. The man had actually thanked her for saving him from himself after she'd put him in the back of her cruiser. He'd nearly wound up on the other end of her partner's gun until she'd talked him down, got him to give up his weapon and brought the confrontation to a peaceful resolution.

"He's not my friend. I arrested him for murder."

"Well, he seems to think he is. Or thinks he owes you something. Guy took one look at me and next thing I know, I'm down on the floor, waking up with a bloody face as Johnson over there," he gestured with his shoulder towards the door behind him, the familiar C.O. standing just on the other side of it. "Is pulling the guy off me, keeping him from trying to mangle me up any further. Thought he was gonna kill me."

Kate felt horrified. "I didn't ask him to do that. I'd never ask someone to do that to you."

"I know." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Kate realized that he must have had more injuries hidden beneath the long sleeves of the jumpsuit. Bruises on his arms, shoulder and back, maybe?

"I thought it was kind of cool, actually."

"Cool?" she half laughed out the word. "Another inmate beat the hell out of you and you thought it was cool?"

"Well, no. Not that part. That wasn't cool, or pleasant, for the record. Just that - this guy felt so strongly about you. It gave me an idea of what kind of person you are, and the cop you'd become, when a guy like that comes in here and decides to kick my ass because he thinks I killed your mom."

Kate swallowed roughly. Her mouth suddenly felt so dry. She'd heard of it happening before. Men she'd put behind bars lashing out at other inmates who'd spoken poorly of her. She'd seen it happen down in holding on more than one occasion now. Mostly, they all hated her upon their arrest. Some threatening to kill her. But there was a select few who'd grown an attachment. She'd treated them fairly and, in turn, become like their favorite school teacher.

She'd be putting more and more men behind bars here with Richard Castle as time went on. How many of them would cross his path and take it upon themselves to try and defend her honor by assaulting, possibly even murdering her mother's killer?

"As far as I'm concerned, you did kill her."

"Yeah, I know." He shrugged his shoulders, gave her a weak smile. "Call me a foolish optimist, but I'm still hoping I can somehow change your mind."

* * *

She switched tactics as the fifth year went on. Treating suspects kindly and fairly yielded more cooperation, she found, and more opportunities to get them talking during an interrogation. Opportunities for getting information they might otherwise never reveal. Cause a slip up.

It went against all the rules for visiting inmates at the prison, but Kate was determined to get her answers and unveil the truth. Using Riker's admiration for her to her advantage, she got the correctional officer to allow her to bring in a latte to her next meetings with the writer. He'd been going on and on for years about how much he missed a good coffee, and lit up at the smell of it when she'd entered the room.

"Oh my god, is that - " His hands immediately lifted the length of the chain, reaching for the to-go cup, fingers wiggling.

"They're not taking the shackles off and I called in a lot of favors to get this in here, so don't you dare burn yourself or spill it everywhere when you try to suck it all down. Got it?"

"Yes, yes. Please. I won't spill it. I promise. Please, Kate. Please."

She slid the cup across the table and watched as he gingerly grasped it with the fingers of both hands, lifting it ever so carefully to his lips. He had to duck his head a little to make it work with the shackles, but he managed.

The pure bliss on his face, and the unbridled joy and gratitude in his eyes when he glanced her way had her feelings at war with her rational mind. What was this warmth coursing through her veins? The smile that was trying to crack through the surface of the usual scowl she had for him?

"Oh. Oh, it's so good. You're an angel, Kate. A goddess." He took another swig, rolling the flavors around on his tongue before swallowing, moaning with pleasure. "Mmmm, coffee. I've missed you," he told the cup.

"I'll bring you another one next week," she vowed. "Whatever kind you want. But I want answers in return. Everything you know, everything you did the night of January ninth, and the weeks leading up to it. The days after, before you were arrested. You say you're innocent? Prove it to me. Convince me otherwise."

Castle lifted his eyes from the lid of his coffee, the cup cradled reverently in his fingers. His smile turned serious.

"I hope you brought something to write with."

Kate Beckett reached behind her, pulling a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen from her back pocket. She uncapped it, testing the ink on the corner of an empty page.

"Talk, Castle."


	4. Chapter 4

Everything he gave her went nowhere.

No one could corroborate his alibi the night of the murder. He couldn't explain the knife found in his car. The blood-stained clothes in his loft. And the most damning of all: every detail of the murder, from the description of location, the victim, the blade, the superficial stab wounds, and right down to the method in which the killing blow was handed down itself. It was all there in writing. Manuscript on his hard drive, backed up across several emails. A physical copy, the paper covered in his fingerprints, found in a desk drawer.

Security cameras of his building revealed nothing. No intruders, no one beyond his usual visitors.

Locks on doors, windows, revealed nothing. No tampering. Nothing beyond regular access.

Nothing proved him innocent. Everything pointed towards his guilt.

She'd had so much hope. Hope that, together, they could figure this out. Five years, fast approaching six. One hundred and twenty visits now. Monthly to weekly, weekly to even more frequent than that.

Every visit, she'd bring him coffee. Every visit, he'd smile warmly at her presence, and speak openly. They didn't always talk about the case, or about chasing down the next lead when a memory sparked or a new thought came to mind. Sometimes they'd just discuss life. Work. His kid. What he missed most being locked in prison. How much he wanted a cheeseburger at Remy's and a chocolate shake. How much he missed being able to hold his daughter in his arms.

He'd gone from the sad, dull-eyed man that prison had reduced him to after five years of incarceration, and grown into someone vibrant and hopeful again. She'd brought the spark back in his eyes; she'd brought back the life he'd been so ready to give up on.

 _The evidence isn't the whole story._

But the evidence was still all she had. The evidence, and his word.

He was her mother's killer - in the eyes of the court, the NYPD, the media, her friends and family.

Oh, god. Her family.

Her dad.

He was sober now. Almost a year. If she told him that she was having second thoughts, that she was trying to help the man who -

It would kill him. It would put the bottle back in his hand and he would drown in it. He'd fall off the wagon and never come back to her again.

She couldn't do this anymore.

She couldn't allow herself to keep developing feelings for a man she couldn't prove innocent of his crime.

She couldn't fall for the man responsible for her mother's death.

* * *

"No coffee today?" he asked, sitting across the table from her, just as he'd done each visit for over half a decade. Disappointed, but still smiling. Always smiling lately. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to _not_ be met with his megawatt grin.

She adored that grin.

Kate shook the thought away, tensed her jaw and straightened up in her seat. She took a fortifying breath and then clasped her hands in front of her on the table.

"Why?" she asked.

Castle's brow furrowed, and lip quirked. "Why what?"

Her teeth clenched, but she remained silent. Stoic.

And just like that, he knew.

"No," he murmured. "No, Kate. Kate, don't do this. Not now. Please."

When she offered him nothing more, his pleas escalated.

"Why are you doing this? Why now? What happened? Did I do something? Did I - Kate. Kate, please. Don't give up on me. You can't give up on me, not now. You're all I have. Kate, please. You're all I have left. I need you - "

"Why did you kill her?" she rasped, voice breaking. Tears were filling in her eyes.

"Kate," he begged.

"Was it for the book? Research? Did you - was the pressure of writing another novel too much and you snapped?" She let out a shuddering breath, laughing sardonically. "Are you crazy? Is that it? Is that all it's ever been?"

He tried desperately to reach across the table for her. Tried to touch her, to hold her hand. Keep her there.

She cringed at the sound of the shackles jarring his forward motion. The chain pulling taut, snapping against his skin. Keeping him restrained by inches.

"Kate," he choked out, growing more and more desperate. "Kate, you know I didn't. You _know_. You _have_ to know after all this time. After everything we've - "

"I don't know anything!" her voice roared. "Six years, I've been coming in here. I've been trying to find the answers with you for the past one. There's nothing, Rick! Nothing! Every lead comes back to you. Every piece of evidence leads back to you. There's nothing out there to prove your innocence. Not a single damn thing! Everyone thinks you're guilty. All of the evidence _proves_ you're guilty! There's no one out there who believes you!"

"You did," he said somberly, voice rough with emotion.

Kate felt her heart sink.

"That's why you kept coming back, isn't it? It didn't make sense. It never made sense to you, even with all the evidence pointed against me, and so here you are. Every month, every week, trying to get me to tell you what I know, what I did, to find something that might explain how or why I could have done this, because you never once believed that I was truly capable of it."

"Don't think you know me, Castle," she warned.

"I know you're scared." Kate jolted, red eyes jerking up to his from where she'd been staring into the table. "I know you're terrified of what it could all mean. ' _What if he's telling the truth? What if he's not?_ ' The questions haunt you. You crawled into your mother's murder and you never came out. That's why you're here. Because if I didn't do it, who did? And if I did?" His laugh was watery, cynical. "Well, if I did, it means you've spent the last six years of your life falling in love with your mother's killer, and the thought of that absolutely destroys you."

She shoved back against the table, flinging herself out of her chair and to her feet. "You're psychotic," she declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him from across the room. "You're nothing but a crazy monster trapped in his own sick delusions."

"Then send the monster back to its cage, Detective Beckett." His voice was cold, stern. His eyes like ice on her. "Stop coming here to tease the animals with what they can't have."

He stood up from his chair, shuffling back as far as the chains would let him go. His hands lifted in supplication.

She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to shield herself from the next blow.

"And what's that?" she dared to ask.

"Freedom. You." He tried on a smile for her, grim. Resigned to his fate. It'd been six years, and he was giving up. "I can't handle the torture of it anymore."

They stood silently for a moment in the tiny room, neither speaking, neither moving. Just sharing each other's gaze from opposite ends of the room. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She stood trembling, watching as the tears pricked in his own eyes. And then suddenly, without any warning, Castle swung his head back, shouting, "Johnson!" He jerked his hands, his feet, jangling the chains together, pulling them hard and tight enough to bruise, if not cut into his skin entirely. "JOHNSON!" he called out again, kicking his chair away, where it crashed against the door behind him. He slammed his shackled, fisted hands down onto the table where they were attached, pounding out a deafening rhythm that resounded in the room.

"Castle," Kate cried out, beseeching him. If he kept this up, he was going to get himself thrown in solitary. He'd had a clean record of perfect behavior the past six years, and now he was throwing it all away because of her.

She stepped towards him, hand outstretched. "Castle, don't - "

"JOHNSON GET ME OUT OF HERE! GET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL THROW THIS FUCKING CHAIR THROUGH THE GODDAMNED WINDOW."

Kate startled back, hand recoiling and, for the first time in six years, felt fear while in the room with him.

Hot, angry tears were sliding down his cheeks as he continued to scream. Mere seconds felt like an eternity to her, watching helplessly as he thrashed about like a cornered animal in a cage. The very thing she'd just accused him of being.

Finally, Officer Johnson rushed into the room. He glanced at Kate with startled, bewildered eyes. The C.O. could hardly believe his eyes and ears himself. Normally, he'd leave them to their own devices, grabbing a coffee down the hall or chatting amongst his fellow officers. Never before had he needed to intervene like this.

Castle had never been anything but polite and a model prisoner. He'd have his moments of depression and get snippy at times, but nothing like this. This was...

"Get me out. Please, just get me out," Castle begged Johnson. Tears streamed unbidden from his eyes. He was deflating, his tall, broad form shrinking in front of their very eyes. "Get me away from her."

He had nothing left to give.

Johnson carefully untethered him from the table, checking over Castle's hands as he did so. The cuffs had cut into his wrists, skin marred with red skin and blood.

He didn't say a word to her as he stepped out of the room, didn't even meet her eyes as he was led away by the C.O., likely to go receive medical treatment. A mental evaluation, at least.

If he had, he'd have seen the regret on her face. The tears cascading down her cheeks.

She'd just broken the last of what remained of his fragile heart, and hers right along with it.


	5. Chapter 5

She should have headed home after leaving the prison. She was too shaken up, too emotional. Too scared.

Richard Castle had a meltdown right before her eyes and it was her fault. It was _all_ her fault.

She was in no condition to go back to work, to keep her head in the game and focused on a case, but she couldn't bring herself to sit alone in her empty apartment, replaying the events over and over again in her head, either.

It was like a movie reel. A horrific, endless loop.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

This. _This_ wasn't supposed to happen.

She'd intended to break him in the first few months. Get her answer, be done with him. Move on with her life.

But she didn't. She'd never moved on. She'd stubbornly refused to give up for years.

It was never supposed to progress the way it had. Five years of staring contests. Of listening to him talk until, finally, she couldn't hold herself back any longer. She never meant to spend a whole year truly getting to know the man. Sharing coffees and stories. Learning about his family, even trying to pull strings to have his daughter allowed a visit in which he could actually hold her, kiss her, unrestrained by the shackles at his wrists; the shackles of his new life. He'd never looked happier than he did that day, when she'd told him she'd do whatever she could to make it happen.

And now she'd ruined everything. He was right. She'd been denying it to herself for nearly a year, but she'd fallen for him, hard. Inexplicably and without consent. She didn't have to keep coming back to him. She'd wanted to. _Needed_ to.

She'd made it a personal mission in the past year to prove him innocent. To see him exonerated.

But the proof was never there. Hard as she'd tried, it was nothing more than a rabbit hole. Down, down she'd fallen, obsessed with finding the truth, the answers. The deeper she got, the harder it was to pull herself out.

She couldn't be falling in love with the man who murdered her mother. She couldn't possibly.

But the feelings were there, growing, festering, eating her alive, so down and down she went some more. And now she'd let her deepest fears override them. Her feelings, and everything she knew to be true in her heart.

She'd let her fears and doubts single-handedly destroy them.

"Damn it!" she cried out, after hours of the reels behind her eyes looping endlessly in her mind. She threw her folder down onto her desk in a fit of frustration and anger. Only, she'd thrown it at the wrong angle. Instead of landing straight down, the black folder she kept her case notes in went sliding across the desktop, careening into her mother's parade of elephants that adorned her workspace.

She didn't react quickly enough to save them.

Her mother's beloved decorative pachyderms went flying off her desk, crashing onto the hardwood flooring with a sickening crack.

Kate held her breath at the sound of the shattering ceramic. The noise startled the only other two detectives still around so late in the evening - her teammates one desk over from hers. They stood up and did what they were trained to do: investigate.

"Hey, Beckett," the new guy approached. Ryan. Nice guy. He'd only recently transferred to homicide. She didn't know him that well yet. "Are you - "

The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks again. There was no stopping them. She didn't even care that her teammates were about to witness her emotional breakdown. She was only afraid to walk around her desk and survey the wreckage. She knew what she'd find. Her mother's elephants, shattered into pieces by her own hand, just like the rest of her life.

"What's - hey, is that a tape?" she heard someone say. Not Ryan's voice. Esposito, then. They'd been working together a couple years now. He was the only other cop in the precinct that she felt particularly close to besides her captain. He was easy to get along with and they'd developed a wonderful camaraderie as coworkers. A brother-sister bond of sorts.

"What?" she asked him, forcing out the words as she'd registered the ones she just heard. A tape?

"There's a tape in there," Esposito replied, pointing, then kneeling down to pick it up. Both guys seemed reluctant to comment on the fact that she appeared to be crying her eyes out for reasons unknown to them, and so focused on the elephants instead. He stood back up and handed it to her, Ryan glancing over his shoulder with curiosity. "It was in the broken part."

"Huh. Secret compartment?" Ryan mused.

Kate stared down at the small microcassette in her hand with wide eyes.

 _The evidence isn't the whole story._

"Do we have audio equipment available that can play these things?" she asked, frantic, directing the question to Ryan. He had fast become their go-to media guy in investigations.

"Uh, yeah. Of course. We're mostly moving towards digital now but some people still use those for things. Tape recorders, old answering machines, etcetera."

 _The evidence isn't the whole story._

She felt nauseous. Physically ill. She knew in her gut, instantaneously, that the tape held all the answers she'd been seeking.

It just had to.

"Bring it to me. Now."

* * *

The contents of the microcassette were a bombshell Kate Beckett never expected to ever come across while investigating her mother's murder.

The former assistant district attorney, William H. Bracken. Captain Montgomery. Officer John Raglan and his partner Gary McCallister. Cover ups and contract killers. A tangled mess so deep, it would probably take months, if not years to unravel it all.

It was hard enough wrapping her head around the conspiracy regarding her mother's death, and dealing with the fallout of it.

It was another thing entirely when the realization hit that Richard Castle had been telling her the truth for six years.

He didn't kill her mother. He had been framed.

And she'd spent the better part of six years treating him like a monster. _Calling_ him a monster, amongst other vicious words she'd unleashed on him in the past. She sat before him, staring him down with cold eyes when all he'd dared to do was assert his innocence and beg for her to believe him.

Believe _in_ him.

In _them_.

And she'd failed him so spectacularly. They'd grown closer with each passing day, and she let her mind betray her heart, and so betrayed him. It would be a miracle if he could ever look at her the same way again after this, much less breathe a word in her direction. She wouldn't blame him for it if he didn't. After all she'd said and done, his silence would be a light sentence for her to suffer through. Having to bear the brunt of his pain and his anger would be more deserved.

She had to fix it somehow. Even if she'd ruined their budding friendship and forsaken any future they might have had, she could at least do this for him. One final thing. She could get him out of prison. She'd make sure of it. He had no connection to the conspiracy, and she would find a way to prove it. He was a sweet man convicted of a heinous crime he'd never committed, and it was time the world knew who Richard Castle really was. Not her mother's murderer, but an innocent man.

A man she'd grown to love, and whose freedom was a long time coming.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Castle asked, his voice gruff and displeased. "I was in the middle of writing."

"Warden's office," Johnson replied, leading the way. "You'll have plenty of time to write later."

"No offense, Johnson, but this is why you're a C.O., not a writer. You can't just wait for the best time to write. You have to write when the mood strikes and the ideas hit you. If I always waited for the perfect time to write a novel, I'd maybe have one best seller, if I'm lucky. Not eight."

Johnson let out a short laugh, but kept on walking.

Castle continued to drag his feet as they approached the door. "Why the warden's office? I passed my psych eval over a week ago. I'm fine."

The C.O. hesitated at first, but finally said, "Got a visitor."

Castle froze in place.

"No," he shuddered, a chill going through his veins. Johnson opened the door anyway, despite his escalating protest.

"No, I already told you. I'm done with her. No more. I can't take it anymore. You can't make me go in there."

"Trust me, Mr. Castle," came the voice of the warden inside. He approached slowly, stopping just shy of the doorway. The older man looked over his inmate appraisingly. "This is one meeting you don't want to miss. Officer Johnson." He turned his attention to Castle's escort. "Please remove the handcuffs from the inmate."

Castle stared dubiously at the man. Johnson was uncuffing him and motioning for him to go through the door. What in the hell -

"Come inside, Mr. Castle. Please, have a seat."

But he couldn't. One step through the door and he saw her. All gorgeous eyes and perfect skin, hair pulled back on the top with mid-length curls cascading about her shoulders. She'd been growing it out again, her hair. He'd found it adorable when she cut it short, but something about her hair longer, especially like this, was highly attractive. It made her look younger. Softer. Softer still as she looked at him, then quickly shifted her attention, her eyes downcast.

It made him even more angry. Surely she knew how he felt. Or did she not realize the extent of the damage she'd inflicted upon him? Could she possibly think that he was going to ignore what happened and let her keep hounding him for answers he couldn't give? And going through the warden for it. She was something else.

And yet - and yet it was that tenacity in her that drew him in from the start. That devotion to her cause. The fierce loyalty for her loved ones.

Oh, he was doomed. Doomed to a life sentence in prison, and doomed to be in love with a woman he could never have, never be with, and never turn his feelings off for, no matter how hard he tried.

"Mr. Castle," the warden called out again. He gestured for him to take a seat beside her in front of his desk.

"I'll stand, thanks," he asserted, steadfastly _not_ looking at Kate Beckett. "What do you want?"

"Suit yourself." The warden moved around his desk, taking a seat in his own chair. "It would appear there's been a break in your case, Mr. Castle."

"A break," Castle parroted back dryly. "Let me guess. More evidence to incriminate me with?" He glared daggers across the room at the detective, his fury with her on full display now. "Pray tell," he asked her, voice dripping with venom. "Whom did I murder this time?" he laughed cynically.

His laughter broke off when Kate got up from her seat and stood facing him. Her face was unreadable. So many emotions playing across her expression. Scared? Nervous? But - hopeful?

What the hell was going on?

"Castle, I - I found something," she murmured, cautiously, as if afraid that her words or her forward motion stepping towards him would spook him, set him off in some way again. "It's huge. It - it changes everything."

"W-what," he stammered. His mouth was cotton. He had to work his jaw, flick his tongue around his mouth to get the words loosened. Get them going. "What are you talking about?"

She was still coming toward him, her lips curling up, if only slightly. The smell of her - cherries, her lip gloss - was steadily reaching intoxicating levels. He loved that scent on her. Spent years longing to embrace her, breathe her in, his nose dipped into her neck, her hair. Pipe dreams. Hopeless longing. She was drugging, effortlessly so, and he couldn't move away if he tried.

"Castle, I can prove you were framed. I know who's responsible."

She -

"What," one word. It's all he had. The rest of them had left him. He stood frozen in front of her, his eyes, his ears, disbelieving. Was he dreaming? He must be dreaming.

"Rick," she took his right hand in both of hers. She was trembling. Her thumb stroked over the rough, calloused flesh of his hands but still, she trembled.

Castle gulped down air.

"I'm getting you out of here. You're going home. Soon. I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

Alone together in the warden's office after explaining everything that she'd discovered, Castle stood pacing, plagued by his thoughts. He needed to absorb everything, to digest it all.

He'd always known he'd been framed. Of course he did. He'd just never known by whom and why. But now with the proof of it all laid out in front of him, and the detective he'd fallen in love with over the course of six years making him a promise to have him set free from incarceration as soon as possible, it was overwhelming. Too much. It knocked the wind right out of him.

A week ago, he'd resolved to never see her again, and resigned himself to his fate living behind bars. He'd made the decision to harden his heart to his feelings and move on, take each day as it came inside the prison walls. He could live on without her. He could get past the heartbreak of losing her. He'd live on for his daughter, and hold onto the hope that someday, maybe one day in the future, someone else would come along and take up his case. Someone would believe in him, and seek out the truth to set him free.

After a week ago, he'd never imagined that that someone would be Kate Beckett, tears in her eyes, trembling hands holding his own and making him promises that he'd only been hearing from her before in his dreams.

"I can't do this."

"I know it's - it's a lot to take in," Kate said, watching him cautiously from a distance. "But you'll get through this. It's already set in motion, Castle. Another week, maybe. There's a lot of paperwork and legal hoops, but I'm keeping the pressure on them. You're getting out of here. You're going to be free."

"Not - not that. I know it...it takes time, I understand that."

Kate remained silent.

"I just - this," he said, turning to face her and gesturing between them. "Us. It's - too soon, Kate."

"Too...soon?"

"I'm not ungrateful," he declared firmly. She was the whole reason he was going to get out of the place. Of course he was grateful. That was never in question. "This is all I've wanted. For years. Oh, god. My life back. I'm getting my life back."

Tears pricked at his eyes. His voice was shaky. Not just from the fact that he was reeling over the new developments, over the fact that everything was about to change, but because of her.

"I just - I can't pretend that everything is okay. You hurt me, Kate. And I can't - "

She drew away from him then. Recoiling in her seat.

"No, I - I get it. No, you're right. It's not okay. I - God, Castle."

She stood from the chair and made her way towards him, making him think she was coming for him. Instead, she seemed intent on the door. On escaping.

"I'll go. I - I should've just let the warden handle everything. You have every right to hate me. I've been horrible to you all these years and - I'm sorry." She choked on a sob. "I know it's not enough. It will never be enough but - I'm so sorry. For so many things, Rick. I'm so sorry."

She was halfway out the door when his hand thrust out, grasping her at the wrist.

Bewildered, heartbroken eyes sought his out anxiously. "Castle?" she whispered in askance.

"I just...need some time."

"Time," she repeated.

"Not forever. But...someday."

Some years ago, Richard Castle had been regaled as a master wordsmith. He'd always known what to say when it came down to it. Now, he let his eyes say what he couldn't find the words for.

He loved her. So help him, he did. He was hurt, he was angry. She'd betrayed him and broken his heart. And still he loved her so desperately, his broken heart had no choice but to try and pick up the pieces and mend them back together again. There was no getting over her, and truthfully, he didn't want to be. Over her. Them. It was everything he'd had getting him through the day for six years. She'd given him hope. She'd brought him joy. She was the reason he could still smile while his hands and feet had remained shackled to a table during each and every visit.

It was only because he'd grown to love her so deeply that the hurt and betrayal had run just as deep.

It would take time, and he knew it wouldn't be easy, but looking at her now, the grief in her eyes, the regret...he knew she was worth every second of the battle it would take to heal and get back where they wanted to be.

He loved her, and he knew she still loved him, too.

"Someday." Kate drew out the word as her gaze lingered into the seemingly bottomless depths of his sad, blue eyes. She nodded at him. "Okay." Another nod, a more firm bob of her head, "Okay."

Only when she had neglected to remove herself from the room did he realize that his hand was still attached to her wrist. He glanced down, noting for the first time the feel of her small frame, the slight bone structure. He'd never been able to touch her before. Not like this. Their fingers would brush during the passing of a coffee, a piece of paper, but now he was holding her. Caressing her. Her skin was so soft compared to the rough touch of his larger, calloused fingers and the dry, moisture-deprived skin of his hands. He used to have such soft hands for a man, but lotion was a luxury in prison, and uses for it amongst inmates...well, simply moisturizing was hardly a priority compared to other more _creative_ uses most men had for it.

"Castle?" Kate asked anxiously. His grip had turned into a slight, sweaty tremble and his cheeks heated over the thoughts invading his imagination.

"Sorry." He released her, surreptitiously wiping his palm against his jumpsuit. Kate's eyebrow quirked, but she inquired no further, just drew her hand back to her side, slowly.

His stall in her departure seemed to ease her anxiety, as she started to speak more confidently again.

"It might be a while. I'm not sure yet," she restated, for emphasis or just to find a safer subject to discuss with him, he wasn't certain. Her back was holding the door ajar, and she already had one foot over the threshold. The other seemed reluctant to move.

"I'll make sure they keep you informed. You should call your lawyer as soon as possible though. He's probably already aware of everything; I gave a few people the contact info I had from you, so they could get him everything he needs. But just to be sure everything goes smoothly, keep on it."

"Right. Yes, I'll do that."

"Okay, good."

The room fell into silence then, and finally Kate bowed her head, hands tucked behind her back and gripping the door knob. She seemed to come to a decision.

"Take care of yourself, Castle. These people...it goes way up. I don't know if they would try to do anything to you in here. To retaliate. But please be careful. Keep your head down and try not to let word spread. If anything happened to you, Rick, I - "

She was in his arms the next moment, and it took him a few seconds to register that he'd been the one to move first. Kate's arms curled tentatively at his sides before gripping more firmly, pressing her body closer until he was sure she could feel the pound of his heart beneath his ribs, the rapid _thump thump_ resounding in her ear. Castle drew her in, tucking her into his embrace. He breathed deeply, his nose dipped into the nape of her neck, allowing the scent of her skin and her hair to fill his senses. He'd only caught whiffs of her perfume wafting from across the table in the years prior, and now she was downright intoxicating.

"I'm still mad," he whispered into her hair. After all, he'd just gotten through telling her that he needed to step back and get some space from the hurt she'd inflicted.

Kate's head bobbed beneath his chin, a nod. She started to pull away, but no sooner did she retreat than he reeled her back in, maybe holding tighter than initially before.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, dwarfing her frame in the cove of his own. "It's just…"

"What?" she coaxed softly. Her nimble fingers had traveled their way up his spine, threading into the locks of hair at his neck. He was due for a haircut. Had been for a while.

"This is the first hug I've had in six years."

"Oh, Castle."

She threw herself into him then, the door falling shut behind her as her feet at last carried her back over the threshold. Castle curled into her, seeking her embrace, and she gave it eagerly. She cradled him to her body, whispering soft words to his ears, apology and reassurance both, as she gave him the comfort he so greedily sought.

"I'll be safe," he said as they parted, knowing she would worry. She wouldn't be sleeping much, not until this was over. Not until he was home safe in his own bed again and her mother's killer behind bars. He knew her. She was tireless in her crusade but, someday, maybe he would finally be able to give her the comfort he knew she, too, so desperately needed.

One day, they would make it past this. Together, as partners.

* * *

Some days later, true to her word, Richard Castle was exonerated.

She'd given him time, just as he'd asked. They hadn't spoken since that day in the warden's office, and even in the courtroom she'd only shared a smile with him some rows behind where he sat, as the biggest day in both their lives unfolded. William Bracken would be tried for murder, conspiracy, and a slew of other charges, and Castle would get to go home a free man.

Now, she stood by, watching and waiting as he took his last trip through the prison that had held him captive for so long. Six years, and she'd finally lost count of her visits to him here. It didn't matter anymore. He was innocent, free, and he was going home.

His mother was nearby. His ride home. Kate hadn't expected to be the one he'd rely on for transportation, given their prearranged code of silence, and given what she knew about his mother from his numerous stories about her, she always had a feeling anyway that Martha Rodgers would be the one to swoop in and rescue him away from "that dreadful place," as he said she'd always made a point to call it.

She didn't know his mom, had never made her acquaintance, and wasn't about to introduce herself now, but she seemed like a genuinely thoughtful and caring mother, even if she did have a flair for drama and a history of questionable activities.

She could see him through the glass doors now, walking toward the exit with Johnson by his side, the other man holding a box presumably containing all of his belongings in it. The camaraderie he'd built up with the corrections officer over the years was always something to behold, even in the darker moments of their time spent together. She knew Castle leaned on the C.O. sometimes behind bars, especially when he was at his lowest. They'd survived a prison riot together back in 2000, Johnson only being a rookie back then, and it had cemented a friendship that would last through the years. Castle didn't have many true friends on the outside, not even before his incarceration, but she knew he would still have Johnson even beyond the confines of a cell block.

The first thing she noticed when he walked through the doors was how much he filled out his old clothing now. Clad in a navy blue, v-neck t-shirt and jeans, the material was snug to his skin, hugging his body and showing off a physique that the jumpsuit had never done justice to. He was _built_ , solid and strong. So different from the man who'd gone in, and she wondered how she'd never noticed until now.

"Oh, Richard. Oh, darling. Come here, come here!" His mother was running to him now, fast as her heels could take her, and soon she was enveloped in his arms, such a tiny thing in light of the towering man that was her only child.

He was saying something to his mom, words she couldn't make out, but she could see the tears on both their faces. Then, she could feel the one trekking down her own cheek.

"Mother, can you give me just one moment?"

She'd ducked her head to wipe her tears when his footsteps were approaching, and she didn't get the chance to look up before his palm was there, caressing her cheek, thumb gently wiping away a new tear that had freshly sprung free.

"Hey," he murmured, his eyes still shiny with tears.

She covered his hand with her own, threading her fingers between his.

"You're free," she said inanely. He smiled.

"Yeah. Thanks to you."

She shook her head, dislodging his hand, though she still kept hold of it as it dropped to his side.

"I had the proof in front of me for six years and it took me half a decade just to listen to you." She fiddled with his hand, stroking the skin along his fingers tenderly, reverently. Apologetic. "I'm sorry it took me so long to believe."

This time, he was shaking his head and taking both of her hands in his, holding them to his chest. Just over his heart.

"You know, I've had some time to think this past week. About everything I've been through, what I could or should've done. What I might've said or done differently, and whether it would have made any difference at all in the long run."

He looked down at her hands, smiling softly.

"You didn't know me then, Kate. You didn't know the kind of person I am. All you had was the evidence I was framed with, and the picture the media and the prosecutors were painting of me. You were a nineteen-year-old girl grieving her mother's death, and I didn't have any answers for you. I couldn't even prove my innocence. I had no way to comfort you, no way to offer help. I watched you spiral down that rabbit hole, and I _chose_ to sit there and take whatever you dished out. It was a conscious decision. Sometimes I baited you, said things I knew would rile you up, not just because I was angry and frustrated myself but because there were days where I thought to myself, 'I can't do anything to save myself in here, but maybe, just maybe I can do something to save her.' If I could ease some of your pain, even if only briefly, then maybe I could find some meaning in my life trapped behind bars."

The tears were rolling in earnest now, her jaw trembling, shoulders stiff as she choked back the sobs lying deep in her chest. She shook her head back and forth, vehemently objecting to his words, his past decisions.

"No," she cried. "No, Castle. I was so awful, so cruel to you. Why would you do that?" She sobbed the words out. "You didn't owe me that. I didn't deserve - how could you? Why…?"

He stepped in close, tipping her chin up and stroking the soft skin with a reverent finger.

"Because I fell in love with you."

Her face crumpled as she dropped forward into his arms, her forehead pressed tight into his. His arms came up around her, holding her close as she sobbed, clutching at him and pulling desperately closer and closer still.

"I love you, Castle," she cried softly. "I love you."

They held to each other for a long moment before Castle pulled back, calling to his friend.

"Johnson, could you…?" he prompted, and the C.O. stepped forward with the box in his hands. As she looked on curiously, Castle reached out with a hand, rummaging briefly for a stack of mismatched paper, some college ruled, some plain white, and an arrangement of colorful construction paper or card stock, but all of which adorned with his own handwriting.

"This is for you, Kate," he told her, holding the paper between them.

"What…?" she gasped, breathless and taken aback.

"I had a lot of time on my hands in there." He gestured to the building behind him with a shoulder shrug. "And you were inspiring."

She received the gift with trembling hands, peering at the rudimentary binding, the paper tethered together with fine twine, the cover delicately bound with old, worn leather.

"It's - Well, there's no title yet. Just a rough draft. Very rough. But I wrote it, for you."

As she stared down at the gift in her hands, still not quite believing, she could hear his mother calling out to him.

"Richard. Dear, we ought get going. The traffic will be terrible heading back to the city at this hour."

"Yes, Mother," he called back. Smiling.

Kate lifted her gaze back up to the man before her. The man she loved, out from the cage that had been his life for the past six years, ready to go fly free. She felt a swirl of affection and need for him that had her reaching out, curling her fingers into his shirt, just at his side.

"Call me, when you get settled?"

"Absolutely," he promised. And then he was swooping in, dropping a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. It made her dizzy. She wanted to reel him back in, kiss him properly.

"I'll see you," he said, stepping away, and she let him go, if only because of the precious gift he'd left her with, that she now held clutched protectively against her chest.

"See you."

And then she watched him go, one last traitorous tear slipping down her cheek.

He was free. Her beautiful caged bird, caged no longer.

* * *

Later that night, after Kate Beckett had settled in for the evening, she found herself seated on her couch, a glass of wine in one hand, and a stack of papers in her lap. She hadn't touched them yet, didn't even allow herself a peek. She waited for privacy; she needed the phone to stop ringing, the day to finally wind down. No interruptions. Just her, and the book he'd given to her.

Written to her.

She took a long sip of red before flipping open the cover and turning to the first page. A dedication.

 _To the extraordinary KB,_

 _In another life, think this could be our story?_

 _I dream of the day it becomes a reality._

 _Always._

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wished he were there, right beside her, so that she could turn to him, embrace him, kiss him soundly and tell him that yes, yes to everything. Whatever he'd written, whatever he'd imagined for their lives, she would give it to him. Sight unseen, she was in it. A future with Richard Castle, that was all that she wanted now.

 _Our story._

"We'll write it together," she whispered aloud, but before she had the chance to turn to the next page, a strong knock resounded on her apartment door.

She was on her feet within seconds, striding across the distance from couch to front door because she knew. It couldn't be anyone else. Not at this hour. Not on this day.

"Castle," she breathed out, as she swung the door open.

And there he was.


	7. Epilogue

**For the readers who begged me.**

* * *

There was a slump to his shoulders as he stood there at the doorstep in front of her. Where he'd seemed so happy, so eager to return to his former life earlier that morning, he seemed a shell of that man now. Empty. Broken.

"Kate," he choked out, and it was then that she saw his tears. Fresh tracks were running down his cheeks, now an unstoppable flood of his emotions.

"Castle. Rick, what's wrong?" When his face started to crumple, she started for him. "Baby, what happened? Come here. Come - "

He didn't need any further invitation. As soon as her arms were lifted to receive him, he was over the threshold and burrowing his large frame into her embrace as he cried. Closing the door behind them with the heel of her foot, she coaxed him just inside, murmuring to him softly as he clung to her, his grip fierce and desperate.

It was a long time before she could get him settled down onto her couch. She'd never seen him so upset before. At least, not since the day in court when he'd been wrongly convicted of her mother's murder.

But this...this was a different grief entirely from what it had been back then. He was free now. He had his life back. Shouldn't things have only been going up for him from here?

"I can't do it, Kate. I can't - I thought I'd go home and everything would be back to the way it was. But it's not the same. God, it's not the same. It's all changed. Everything has changed."

Oh, god. How could she have been so foolish?

"It's my loft, but it's not anymore, Kate. It's just not. Everything's different. She's had my furniture replaced, my office is redone. I try to find plates and silverware, and they aren't there anymore. The kitchen is rearranged. Nothing is the way I left it. My books are gone, my clothes are gone, my - "

His voice caught in his throat, and then he was sobbing in earnest.

"My little girl," he wept. "My little girl is gone."

"Oh, Rick."

He doubled over in his grief-stricken state, face in his palms as his shoulders racked with his sobs. Kate curled around him, tugging him down into her lap and soon feeling the warm moisture of his tears seeping into the cotton of her pants. She rubbed his back in slow circles with one hand while running her fingers through his hair with the other. Gradually in time, his breaths stopped stuttering. Bit by bit, the keening noise coming from deep within dissipated, and he'd turned instead into soft sniffs as he pillowed his cheek upon her thigh.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I just couldn't stay there, and I-I didn't know where else to go."

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm glad you came."

Castle shifted on the couch, rolling so that he was on his back, able to look up at her from an upside-down angle. She curled her hand at his cheek, smoothing her thumb across his cheeks and wiping away the remnants of his tears.

"I love you," she emphasized, her thumb tracing a circle around his cheekbone. "You're welcome here any time."

"Even when I'm a mess?" he wondered, peering up at her and looking so much like a lost little boy. It made her heart ache for him.

"Even then," she returned, with a slow stretch of her lips into a tender smile. "I'll be here for you. Always."

Castle twisted up into a seated position and, without preamble, pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. Threading his fingers into her hair, he held her in place, nipping gently at her lips and coaxing her to open for him. She did so eagerly, sipping from his mouth with greed, the years of want and longing they'd shared for one another culminating here, now, on the eve of his first night out of incarceration. The first day of his new beginning.

She was determined that they salvage it. He deserved some semblance of light at the end of the dark tunnel he'd just escaped from. He deserved to be happy again.

"I want you," Castle confessed, unable to tear himself away from her. His lips brushed along her jaw, his mouth traveling down, down, open and then closing on her neck, making her moan in pleasure with the feel of his lips and teeth on her skin. "Kate," he exhaled her name, his hot, moist breath making her tremor with need.

"Bed," she gasped out, already tugging at his t-shirt, lifting until she could tear it off over his head. "Castle, take me to bed."

"Where?" he asked, lifting her up with ease as he stood. His fingers dipped below the waistband of her lounge wear and her legs instinctively came up around him, gripping and seeking all at once.

Her hands wandered over his chest, so chiseled and built now, his muscles rippling and flexing beneath her traveling fingers. "Hallway," she panted out against his ear. His mouth was still busy along her collarbone, tasting and lavishing with a hunger she couldn't even begin to fathom the magnitude of after going so many years without physical intimacy with another person, without affection. "Behind you. To the right."

His shoe caught on a floor rug and he tripped, nearly sending them crashing to the floor before literally strong-arming the doorway, his hand flying out to catch his fall and effectively pinning Kate against the wall in the process.

She didn't mind. She let her legs drop from around his waist, feet falling to the ground, and while he busied himself with unbuttoning her nightshirt, she'd begun working on his jeans, popping the brass button and sending the zipper sailing down. The proximity of her hand to where he wanted her most made his hips jerk forward into her palm.

"Want you so bad," he murmured, his voice low and like gravel. He'd gotten her shirt open, but his mouth had gone back to seeking hers. "Wanted you for so long," he professed, kissing her deeply, urgently, as though he were parched and she water, and he couldn't drink from her fast enough. "So long, Kate. Years. For years."

"I know. Me too," she confessed back, giving him everything. All that he wanted, all that she had. Her love, her body. She was his. She'd been his for such a long time now. She was a fool to have ever let herself be convinced otherwise. "Love you, Castle." Her hand found his, and she led him forward. "Come to bed. Please."

* * *

Lying together afterward, Kate watched him as he slumbered. He'd been so afraid to let himself fall asleep at first; expressed fear that everything was just an elaborate dream, some torturous nightmare, and he'd wake up in his cell all alone again.

After they'd made love, she'd lured him into a bath with her, letting the hot water and lavender-scented suds relax him as they sat back together, her body cocooned in his. He explored her body with curious hands and kisses to her neck and shoulders as she sipped their shared glass of wine and read through chapters of the novel he'd written for her; the story of a writer following his muse for inspiration. She thought back to the dedication scrawled in his handwriting, and Castle's sincere hope from prison that, one day, the lives his fictitious characters were leading would become a reality for the two of them.

She wasn't sure how they would be able to make it work, but she wanted it. With a burning, unquenchable desire, she needed to make their story come to life. She needed to fill her life with his presence, his love. She owed it to him, to them. After so much tragedy, grief, and agony in their lives, they deserved to finally be happy. Together.

Castle's eyes grew heavy after the extended time spent in the tub. Leading him back to bed, and with her heart surging with even more love for him after what she'd read, they made love once more. After, Kate finally coaxed him under with soft whispers of promise, and reassurances that she'd be right there, right where he'd left her, when he next opened his eyes. He'd curled up against her, sighed softly with his cheek pillowed upon her breast, and then he was out.

Now, he was sprawled out beside her, hair flopped forward, sweaty and clinging to his forehead, making him look adorable, if not still ruggedly handsome in his own way. He snuffled in his sleep, lightly, just a slight sound, but noticeable enough right away, and making her smile at this new endearing trait she'd learned about him.

She'd expected their love making to be frenzied and impassioned, intensely heated in an anxious, but all-consuming way. In actuality, once they'd made it into her bedroom, Castle had been surprisingly gentle and patient, so patient, taking care of her with such painstakingly tender focus. He was passionate, yes, but in a far more intimate and understated way. He undressed her reverently, taking time to learn her body, to touch, to taste, finding the places that made her squirm, made her moan.

When he'd finally merged his body with hers, he was an unselfish lover, careful and devoted, making sure he met her every need before seeking his own. He held her, cherished her, kissed her with an intimacy she'd never felt before. And when he'd finally let go, it was with her name on his lips, chanting his love into her ear, and again upon her breast.

No one had ever loved her in the way that Richard Castle did. And perhaps, she thought, because of him, his presence in her life all these`years, that was why no one ever could.

Curled onto her side, Kate tripped her fingers along his abdominals, just above where the bed sheets were bunched around at his hips. It was early in the morning now. Still hours until sunrise, but with enough moonlight shining through her bedroom window to see his skin prickled with goose flesh. She danced her fingertips up, appreciating his physique, but admittedly still needy and vying for his conscious attention.

She had let him sleep and carried on with reading her - _their_ \- book. But now she was finished.

And she wanted him again.

Castle grunted in response to the open-mouthed kisses she placed upon his chest.

"Mm, like that?" she murmured. Her name fell almost soundlessly from his lips, caught sleepily in his throat, but she heard it. She drew her lips up, from abs to his breastbone. "Wake up, Castle," she said softly.

He grunted out another noise, one of protest. Her kisses escalated. "Wake up," she husked again.

"No," he whined petulantly, rolling to the side and burying his face in her pillows. "'m dreamin'. You'll disappear."

"Definitely not dreaming," she purred into his ear. His skin rippled with goose flesh again. "Open your eyes, Castle."

He cracked one eye open, searching for her, and the smile that erupted on his face when he caught sight of her nearly took her breath away.

"Kate," he breathed. He rolled back over so that she was hovering above him. "Hi."

She sidled closer, draping herself across his bare chest as she leaned in to kiss him slowly. "Hi," she whispered, and kissed him again, then once more, just because she could. "Did you sleep well?"

Castle nodded his head vigorously, a certain light and knowledge in his eyes now making her feel shy and self-conscious. She chuckled lightly into his cheek, hiding her face. He threaded his fingers in her hair, and drew her back to him for another kiss.

"You are so beautiful," he said with awe, twirling an index finger around one wild curl framing her face in her sex-touseled hair.

Her head dipped again, shyly, but her hands wandered back to his chest. She couldn't stop touching him, loved the play of muscle and how it felt beneath her fingertips.

"Not so bad yourself, Castle."

"Yeah? Like what you see, Beckett?" he grinned. Off her shy nod, he added, "You know what they say about prison. Working out, or reading. I did a little of both, with some writing on the side."

"Mm, I knew you worked out. I just can't believe you had all of this hiding from me beneath that jumpsuit all these years."

Castle laughed. "Most unflattering outfit ever. Itchy, too."

She drew her hands up to his shoulders, palms sliding over the smooth skin as if she could erase the memory of the clothing he'd worn nearly every day for over six years. Her hands slid down his arms until she could interlink their fingers. "You'll never have to wear it again," she swore.

"I'm going to have to go shopping," he sighed. "I need an entirely new wardrobe now."

"We will. But later." Kate shifted above him, until she was straddling his waist. "I need you just like this for a little longer."

"More naked time?" he grinned.

" _Lots_ of naked time."

"Twist my arm, Detective Beckett."

"Do more than that by the time I'm finished with you, Mr. Castle."

* * *

She loved the sight of Richard Castle in her apartment. Admittedly, he was a rather invasive creature, poking his nose into every nook and cranny, snooping through anything and everything he could find. But it was something she could definitely get used to.

He scoured through her book collection, and analyzed her home decor all morning. He spent nearly an hour trying to decide what it meant about her that she seemed to decorate with mismatched furniture and a hodgepodge of knickknacks that in no way related to each other whatsoever. He teased her over the styrofoam above the fridge, then started plotting meal plans and date nights in which they could stay in together with him cooking for her. And now he was fiddling with her laptop, marveling over DSL Internet speeds and the advancement of technology; computers, cellular phones, television, and just tech in general. It wasn't until he started pointing out how much had changed in the time he'd been in prison that she realized how much the world changed in the last six years.

Little did he know, she'd planned a big surprise for him while he'd been busy all morning, enamored by all the fancy gadgets she owned. In just a few minutes, he'd be receiving her gift to him, and she sincerely hoped she wasn't overstepping by making it happen.

"Hey, uh, Beckett?" he called out a short while later. "I think there's something, um...Can people call you on laptops now?"

The distinct chime continued to ring and Castle stared in both confusion and amazement at the monitor in front of him. Kate smothered her smile. "Well, answer it, Castle."

He shot her a curious, suspicious look, but then moved his index finger on the touch pad.

"Go on," she encouraged.

As soon as he clicked, the beaming smile of a young girl filled the screen. Fiery red hair and gleaming blue eyes, her sudden appearance made Castle both gasp and jerk back in his chair.

"Daddy!" Alexis Castle shouted in delight. Her eyes tracked him, though she didn't quite make eye contact due to the position of the web camera. "Daddy, is that you?!"

"A-Alexis. Pumpkin. Oh, honey." Instinctively, Castle's hands came up, moving as if he could reach out and touch her, snatch her right out of the screen. It took him a moment before realizing she couldn't just pounce out of the laptop. "Oh, baby, it's so good to see you. How are you? I love you, Alexis. I love you so much, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, Daddy," his daughter replied, tears in her eyes.

Kate made her way to the edge of the room, giving him privacy with his kid. Before she left, Castle glanced her way, their eyes catching. His were brimming with tears, the gratefulness in his expression undeniable. She nodded her head and gave him a smile as she backed out of the room.

She'd been so afraid this morning, calling his mother, and then his ex-wife, setting everything into motion. But now she knew with certainty that he'd needed this. She'd given him the best gift she possibly could to help him heal and move forward in his new reality.

* * *

Castle spoke to his daughter for hours. Kate didn't mind, however. She simply kept herself occupied in the meantime with some light cleaning around the apartment at first, and then she dove back into the novel he'd written, skimming through to all of her favorite parts. She loved how Castle's scrawl seemed so impassioned in certain instances of any given chapter. It wasn't just the words so much as the physical way he'd written them; some places, his handwriting was darker, deeper, while others were light and hastily put down. It gave the story a certain element of energy that just couldn't be found in any typewritten font.

It was going to be such a great book. It already was. She just knew that once he got the chance to turn it into an actual manuscript, his publisher would be thrilled to share it with the world. His story was going to be a hit. Their story. And it was only the beginning. There was still so very much left to come.

"Hey," his soft voice interrupted her thoughts. He was walking out of the spare bedroom she used as her office space, hands in his pockets and looking sheepish. "Sorry," he said, looking out towards the setting sun just out the windows. "Completely lost track of time."

Kate shifted on the couch, pulling her legs up onto the cushion and motioning for him to come join her. "Don't apologize. You haven't been able to speak freely with your daughter in ages. It wouldn't bother me if you stayed up all night talking with her."

Castle chuckled as he sat down. "She'd never allow it," he said with a grin. "She has a self-imposed bedtime, you know. Eight P.M., on the dot. Meredith said she's incorruptible. Doesn't stray from the path of good behavior no matter what temptation she throws at her." He grinned again. "Drives her crazy."

"She sounds like a great kid."

"She is. She's amazing. So smart, and she's grown up so much."

Kate could only imagine. The girl had barely started kindergarten when Castle had been convicted. She was much older now, and probably changed in so many ways.

"I, uh - " Castle hesitated, looking anxiously at her as he sat down beside her on the couch.

"What?" she coaxed, but he seemed afraid to go on. Afraid of her reaction to what he was wanting to say.

"You can tell me anything, Castle. You know that."

She reached her hand over to cover his, squeezing his fingers lightly.

"I want to go to California," he blurted at last. Silence followed, in which their eyes caught, then both dropped their gazes to their interlinked fingers.

It wasn't much of a shock. Of course he'd want to be near his daughter. She'd known that in her heart from the very beginning. But hearing his desire spoken out loud still made her heart race with anxiety and fear.

"To stay?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "To visit, at least. At first. But after that..." He let his words hang there, because the truth was that he really didn't know. He didn't know what came next.

Castle needed to see his daughter. Needed to be able to spend time with her, get to know her again. They had years to catch up on, and it might take years to repair the relationship they'd lost when they were separated so many years ago.

"Kate, I - " he started, shifting to face her, but she was already shaking her head.

"It's okay. I understand," she said, resigned but refusing to be selfish. "She needs you, and you need her. You should go to her, Castle. Go be with your daughter."

"But Kate," he stopped her, lifting his hand to her cheek. "I need you, too. I want to be with you, too." His hands trembled, his body shaking. "I can't - " he choked out. "I don't want - "

She was crying. Just like that, with just those few words, she was in tears and falling into his arms. Oh, how she loved him. It tore her apart to think of losing him after everything they'd been through.

But he loved her, too. He'd come to her, turned to her last night with no one else he wanted to go to. He wanted to be with her. They'd gone through hell and back, and he still wanted her by his side through whatever came next.

"Come with me," he murmured into her hair. "Come with me with California. And then - "

"Yes," she said without hesitation. She didn't need him to finish his thought. She knew what he would say.

They'd go to California. They'd spend time with his daughter. And then...

They would figure it out. Her mother's killer was behind bars. Her quest for justice was over. She didn't have to stay in New York. Not anymore. She didn't need to sacrifice her happiness and the shot at a future with the man she loved. The man who'd helped her get through the last six years, and to put everything to rest.

Whatever came next, whatever 'and then' entailed, she would be by his side, sharing this new life together.

"I'll go with you. Wherever life takes us. Partners, Castle. I love you."

"I love you, Kate." He pressed his lips to her temple, down to her cheek. "Kate, I love you."

The next chapter of their lives was beginning and, from then on, they'd be writing it together.


End file.
